Good Boys, Nice Guys, and Mad Men
by Nyte Quill
Summary: "It's one thing to want something. It's another to need it." My very first Mad Men fic. Ted in his office during "For Immediate Release", and now Don pondering over the women in his life. Now rated T for language. Please R&R and, as always, enjoy.
1. Taste don't touch

It's late. She's been working; he could sense the atmospheric shift from her brainstorming tingling down the hall since lunch. He should be working too, and is in his own special way, but Ted has always known the time to call it a day and when to make a night of it- whatever _it_ is. At the moment, trying to get a creative spark from the Ford- sponsored sitcom only has the benefit of getting Peggy in his office. The highlight of his day, to be sure, but still a spotlight on how little he's accomplished so far.

He sighs a brief sigh, a little sound of frustration that just slightly affects her heartbeat. "Maybe Frank was right. We should've never dumped Alfa. It's one thing to want something. It's another to… _need_ it." He's talking about so much more than the account right now, and he wonders if she's caught on.

He liked her fire when they first met, so bold and shy at the same time. She was and is brilliant, and totally new, and has a set of solid brass balls to balance the brains. She's loyal and he loves that, and appreciates how hard it's been to transfer that loyalty to him and the firm. She's not gorgeous but still pretty, understated in a fresh way like a bunch of wildflowers when you were expecting lilies.

When Frank had dropped his bombshell this morning, Ted wanted to call her, just to hear her voice and ask her to tell him it would be alright. He'd stared at the phone for 5 minutes solid, actively daring it to ring while keeping his fingers tightly laced to avoid dialing it himself. Then he'd stared at the door, willing her to walk through it on some importantly trivial matter so he could wrap her in his arms and hold onto something solid in a world that had just been knocked sideways. He'd needed Frank's pessimistic brilliance- the perfect counterpoint to his own temperament- for the better part of 2 decades. He'd wanted Peggy Olsen for her brains and instincts and sass for over almost 2 years, and wanted her for everything else for about 4 months. Now he has to admit, at least to himself, that he's started to need her too (although he's completely unaware of exactly when _that _shift occurred.)

"I like the fact that you're-" He's suddenly in her face, breathing the same air in as much time as a breath takes.

"Do _not_ say I'm nice. I **hate** it when people say I'm nice." Especially when his thoughts are decided not G-rated, when he wants nothing more than to be bad.

Her voice is quiet, a little breathless from surprise at his vehemence and abrupt proximity change. "Actually, I was gonna say strong." He almost laughs. Strong? He's not strong. He's weak, totally helpless in her presence, as lacking in self control as a 6 year old on cookie jar guard duty.

Peggy's lips are soft against his, not yielding but not forbidding. He doesn't even want to deepen the kiss right now. Ted's totally content to suspend this moment like a piano wire, stretching on to a beautiful harmonious tension. He's a bit concerned that their tongues actually mingling might make him explode, and besides, he's currently fascinated by the way he can _just_ feel that tiny puff in her upper lip; she must've been worrying it between her teeth the way she does when she's working. He loves that she treats every account, every thing like it's make or break, though he worries sometimes the stress will prove too much. He—

Is suddenly aware of the gentle yet undeniable pressure on his chest, that he's being pushed away rather than reeled in closer. With that touch he returns to his body in a rush of awareness, like the weight of the wedding band on his ring finger, and the bright and vivid memory of that beatnik she calls a boyfriend.

When he speaks, his voice is soft. "I'm sorry." His tone a little sheepish. "I'm just grateful." His words a complete lie.

It may be his imagination, but he almost swears he sees a flash of disappointment at his explanation.

He spins around and puts a few steps of much needed distance between them. "Good night, Peggy."

He keeps his focus on the very expensive objet d'art he keeps behind his desk to suitably impress people when he's pitching. If he turns around, he won't keep his eyes off her. His hands are gripping the desk's edge so tight, he wouldn't be at all surprised to find indents in the wood when and if he finally lets go. If he relinquishes his hold, he'll never let her out of his arms. He's concentrating on his breathing, timing each inhale and exhale to the sound of her footsteps as she walks to the elevators. If he lets his control slip, if his strength falters, if he follows her now, he'll kiss her until she kisses him back.

It's one thing to want something. It's quite another to need it.

**A/N: this is being dashed off because I can't sleep and the plot bunnies were pestering me. Good, bad or ugly, let me know what you thought.**


	2. To hold, not to have

Don saw the pain flash in Joan's eyes before she looked down at the polished surface of the conference table. He felt his gut and fist tighten in simultaneous response. It wouldn't be the first time someone had been punched out here, and it was certainly as justified now as it had been then.

Of course there were two problems with punching Harry. One- it wouldn't stop with him; he'd feel the need to sock Campbell into a bloody pulp for being the one who finally pushed her, and just in general for being such a contemptible little shit in the first place. Hell, it might even extend to Roger, who he'd known was a massive ass to her for years, and was rumored to be the father of her child, but regardless deserved at least a sock to the jaw for being an ass (even if he was only being himself.) Then there would be the uncontrollable urge to drive to Jersey and follow the stench of misery and delusion to Herb Rennett and beat him until he was a twitchy stain on the sidewalk.  
Two- Harry unfortunately had a point. His contributions were indeed being overlooked sometimes, but mostly because no one really expected anything out of him; the times he did something right were so few and far between but always so fabulous that they just ended up evening the balance against the countless times he had royally mucked things up. But 150K was a royal of a different color, and they all knew it.

After the meeting, he touches her elbow and directs her to his office. He pulls off his suit jacket and pours them both a drink and waits for her to do something. She takes a sip, then seems to forget the glass despite the whitening skin gripping it as her face gives that tiny squinch and tears threaten her delicately made up eyes. A tiny sniffle, not even a sob, is the only sound that breaks the stillness, but he's at her side in an instant. Glass pulled from her grip and set out of harm's way, he tenderly places one hand on her wrists, and the other shyly grazes the tops of her shoulders to settle on the delicate curve farthest from him. He's not holding her, merely touching her, and willing her to breathe and react and stabilize. Her tears are a particularly brutal form of Kryptonite for him, although he's no Superman and she'll never be his Lois. Nothing works without her, and he can't really take losing another person he cares about.

"Oh, Don…" she manages in a tired voice, before the tears start and he gathers her fully into his arms and eases back against the sofa and just holds her, his shirtfront be damned. Her hands are resting against his chest, not really grasping, simply there pinned between them as she cries. It's a quiet breakdown, almost delicate like an April shower, and Don hopes it will have a similarly soothing cathartic effect.

He wants to reassure her, pull out his warm salesman's tone and convince her that she's more valuable than half the staff together, that Harry's wrong and speaking out of jealousy and that no one thinks of her like that.

He wants to tap into that genuine yet inexplicable ability to put Betty at ease, to talk Peggy off the ledge, to make the women in his life smile and get back to being the selves he wanted or needed them to be.

He wants… so many things that are just not going to happen.

**A/N: because I was really hoping someone *would* be physically violent on Joan's behalf in "To Have & To Hold". They have great chemistry (even though I don't really ship them), and he's so good at that calm reassurance thing, esp. when it's genuine and for someone he really cares about.  
Hope you liked it. Even if you didn't... you know the drill.**


	3. Out of reach

It's the longest elevator ride he's ever been on. They're not in each other's arms, or kissing, or holding hands, or talking or not talking. They're silent, they're inches apart, they're miles apart.

A word has not passed between them since they closed the door on room 503. The drive was quiet, save for the raindrops drumming insistently on the hood and roof and windows. The walk into the building was quiet too, only the soft _click click_ of their respective heels touching the tiled floor as they stride in matched step to the elevator bank.

His thoughts are deafening, a dull roar in his head like a restless Yankees crowd in the summer. Did he push too hard? Did he go too far? Could he get her back? Could he just _go_ back- home, to Megan, to the way things had been before her? Did he want to? No. Will he have to? Yes. That much has been made softly and tenderly, yet resolutely and unmistakably clear.

The ding of the floor indicator sounds muted somehow, even though it should be loud in the silence. She squares her shoulders and steps off. His hand reaches for her as she passes, but she doesn't notice. His ears strain for words, that delivery of a new agenda. She doesn't speak as she walks away. He tries to catch her eye in the facing mirror as she walks to her apartment (the angle is awkward but it can be done). She never even glances in that reflective direction. He stalls the door from closing, counting to 30 as slowly as possible as he waits for her to stick her head back around the corner, to flash that little smile, to give some small sign. She never looks back.

**A/N: realizing there are about 20 ways to go with Don & Sylvia scenes from "Man w/ a Plan" I still really liked the ending in the elevator. Short, simple, and very well done. I tried to do it justice. Hope you like it. There's other stuff cooking.**


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